


Why Little Sisters Are Definitely Evil

by writeitininkorinblood



Series: Why Little Sisters Are Definitely Evil [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Family, M/M, OC, referenced homophobia, vague domestic cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeitininkorinblood/pseuds/writeitininkorinblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the people Race expected to be on the other side of the door, his sister would have been pretty much bottom of his list. Just above Obama. Or Jesus. She was supposed to be at home in Long Island with the people he had the misfortune to call his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Little Sisters Are Definitely Evil

**Author's Note:**

> I don't speak any Italian so please let me know if Google Translate had lied to me and made me write nonsense.  
> As usual I apologise for bringing this into the world but procrastination makes me do terrible things. Hopefully someone will find it at least a little bit amusing!
> 
> (I cannot write Spot to save my life, hence why he is actually in very little of this...)

“Sofia?!”

Of all the people Race expected to be on the other side of the door when he opened it half way through his day off, his sister would have been pretty much bottom of his list. Just above Obama. Or Jesus. She was _supposed_ to be at home in Long Island with the people he had the misfortune to call his parents.

“Ciao! Ti manco?” She was far too cheery for this and it was making Race’s head hurt. The Italian threw him for a second. He hadn’t heard it in a while. Spot didn’t speak it so he didn’t use it at home, a few words of his native tongue only slipping out when he was mad. Or sometimes during sex, which meant Spot took it as a personal challenge to get him to swear or beg in Italian in bed. But back to the problem at hand.  
“What? Why? How? What?” Race was baffled.

Sofia ignored the questions, ducking past Race and into the apartment. She examined the room with a wrinkled nose, taking off her coat and throwing it over back of the sofa.

“You left. Why can’t I?’ She shrugged, settling onto the sofa and putting her feet up on the coffee table.

“I left when I was legally allowed to, Sof! You are thirteen. Do they even know you’re gone?” Race picked up her coat and went to put it on one of the hooks in the corner. His eyes widened when he realised Spot’s coat was there. That Spot’s stuff was all over their apartment. His family didn’t know. About his boyfriend or that he was gay. And it needed to stay that way. He covered Spot’s coat quickly with Sofia’s, not that she’d be able to tell it was Spot’s coat and not his, but having the evidence staring him in the face seemed like tempting fate.

Race refused to feed Sofia until she admitted why she’d come knocking on his door, and how she’d gotten there. It was a tried and tested trick from their childhood and it worked like a charm. Soon she had a packet of Oreos and was telling him everything he wanted to know.

“They were fighting. Again. You know how they are. So instead of going to school, I got the bus here. You send me birthday cards with a return address on them. It wasn’t difficult to find your place. They don’t know I’m here.”

“I have to tell them.” Race sighed. He didn’t want to talk to his parents, hadn’t in about a year. But if Sofia didn’t go home after school his mum would panic and eventually call the police. It would be far easier to make the call now rather than later.

“Fine,” Sofia huffed, pouting and crossing her arms. She definitely wasn’t old enough to be moving out by herself.

 

It was the most awkward phone call Race had ever made, but he managed to explain that Sofia was at his apartment and that he would get her to school tomorrow morning and she’d be home after that. It was only after he’d hung up that he realised he’d have to explain Spot. And he didn’t have any alternative options in mind to explain the boy who slept beside him every night other than the truth. And the truth was out of the question.

Race left the kitchen in an even worse mood. It was bad enough that Spot had to work on what was supposed to have been their day off together, but now the sister he hadn’t seen since he’d moved out four years ago was in his apartment _and_ he’d had to speak to his mother. It could not get much worse.

Famous. Last. Words.

 

When he went back into the main room Race found Sofia stood at the sideboard, poking around at the pictures and empty bottles he and Spot had left there.

“Race…” There was confusion in her voice and Race groaned before answering, tired of all this already. Children were exhausting. Even teenagers. Especially teenagers.

“Yeah?” He wasn’t in the mood for questions.

‘Who is this?” Sofia turned around with a picture in her hands and Race had to take a step closer to see which one she’d picked up.

“Who is wh- OH! Shit! Fuck, no, um, shit.” Race snatched the frame from her hands, cradling it protectively to his chest. It was probably the one photo in their apartment that couldn’t potentially just show them as friends. It’d been taken at the most recent annual group Christmas film night that had remained a tradition long after they’d grown up. There hadn’t been enough chairs for everyone so Spot had unceremoniously thrown himself down on top of Race in lieu of a taking a spare seat. At the end of whatever cheesy Christmas film they’d watched, Race had forgotten which one months ago, Spot had kissed him and Jack had taken a photo at the perfect moment. Neither of them could even pretend they hated the picture and it had pride of place on the sideboard. Race couldn’t believe he’d forgotten it was there and let Sofia go snooping. “That’s… no one.”

“You’re kissing him.” The statement was punctuated with raised eyebrows and a tone of surprise, but there didn’t seem to be any judgment to the words.

“Sofia, leave it. Please.” Race hugged the picture tighter. He didn’t want to get into this. Really, really didn’t. Unfortunately, Sofia didn’t share the sentiment.

“Are you gay? Is that your boyfriend?”

“Don’t. I said please.”

Sofia tugged the photo out of his arms, much to Race’s protests, and stared at it a little more. Race tried to snatch it back but she kept it at arms length from him and he gave up, unwilling to fight like a child for it. Even if he wanted to keep it safe, keep his and Spot’s relationship safe.

“Are you ashamed of him?” There was genuine curiosity in her voice and it made Race nervous.

“Not of him, no. Never. Not ashamed at all, I just-” Race screwed his face up once he realised Sofia had tricked him into confessing to who Spot was. Not that she’d been in much doubt. “You little shit.”

“So he is your boyfriend.” Sofia smirked, handing over the photo and snorting with laughter as Race grabbed it back quickly.

“I… Yeah. He is.” Race sighed, collapsing back onto the sofa as his bones gave up and saying goodbye to his hopes of keeping Spot a secret from his family.

Sofia bounced onto the seat beside him, dragging down the corner of the picture so she could see Spot again. Race scowled and pulled it back against his chest. It was an intimate photo, even if it was entirely decent, and it felt wrong to let his sister get fingerprints all over the glass of the frame.

“What’s his name?” Sofia asked, undeterred.

“Er, Spot. Well that’s his nickname, but if anyone but me tries to call him anything else then believe me, they regret it.” There was a tiny smile playing at the corner of Race’s mouth.

“What do you call him?”

“Scott, usually. Sometimes Scotty. Occasionally something cuter if I think I can get away with it.”

Sofia grinned. Race had relaxed a little once he’d realised she wasn’t disgusted or mad and she planned on using that state to get as much information out of him as possible.

“And how long have you been together.”

“Almost five years now. Five years next month. But listen, enough of the Twenty Questions game, you cannot tell our parents. Do you understand? Dad will kill me. They can’t know.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t say anything. Under one condition.” There was a devilish glint in Sofia’s eyes as she made herself comfortable on the sofa and tucked her arms back behind her head.

“Sof, please. I’m not joking when I say he’ll kill me; you know he-”

“Chill, Tony. I just want to meet the boyfriend. That’s all.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I have no choice. This is his apartment too and he’ll be back from work later. I told Mum you could stay overnight so unfortunately he will be introduced you in all your amiable and polite glory.”

Sofia just grinned and helped herself to another Oreo. Race excused himself and hid the picture frame in his bedside drawer. He wanted to keep some things to just him and Spot, and that moment was one of them.

 

It was easy enough to keep Sofia occupied. Race let her snoop around for a little longer, confident that there was nothing else bad for her to find. As long as she kept out of their bedroom. But he kept her under close supervision to make sure of that because God forbid she find condoms or lube or anything worse. He would never hear the end of it.

Sofia found some Disney movies in her investigating, DVDs they kept hidden from their friends to avoid ridicule but that Race was happy to play to amuse Sofia. She settled for The Lion King and Race was relieved to see that it kept her quiet and unlikely to get into mischief. He exhaled slowly in relief and set about making her a bed up on the other sofa for later.

 

Race had reached the point where he felt like Spot would never come home, but eventually a key sounded in the lock, the keychain thudding gently against the door. Sofia’s eyes lit up with mirth and she jumped up off the sofa and sprinted to the door. Race groaned, following her before she could do too much damage to his boyfriend.

“Hey, I’ve missed-” Spot began, before turning away from taking his keys out of the lock and realising that the short Italian in front of him was not actually Race. “Well I haven’t missed you. Who the fuck are you? Did you break in?”

“Hey, welcome home.” Race stepped forwards and smiled when he saw the tired but comforting eyes of his boyfriend light up when they found who they were looking for. There was an awkward pause where he would usually have kissed Spot, but he didn’t feel comfortable doing it in front of Sofia, swiftly moving on instead. “This delight is my little sister.”

Spot cocked his head as he took in the resemblance, nodding to himself.

“Sofia, right? Um. Hi.” He shuffled, feeling a little awkward.

“So apparently you’re fucking my brother.”  
“Sofia!”

Race officially gave up. His sister had no tact and should never be allowed to visit again. Not that she’d exactly been _allowed_ to visit this time.

Spot just laughed, even if his cheeks did redden a little. He shot an uncertain look at Race, aware that his family didn’t know he was dating another man, but he relaxed a little once he nodded slightly, letting him know it was okay.

“I guess. I mean, we’re dating. Nice to meet you, squirt.”

He held out his hand clumsily, unsure of the protocol when meeting your boyfriend’s little sister who hadn’t known you’d existed until that morning.

Sofia just raised an eyebrow, turning to Race.

“Really, Antony? This guy?”

“Hey!” Race raised his voice as Spot scowled. “There will be no being rude to the man I love. Got that?”

Sofia laughed, a noise that Race had already relearned not to trust.

“I’m joking. But good to know you love him.” She winked and turned back to the television.

Race groaned and buried his head against Spot’s neck, not caring that he had to bend down a little to fit.

“Well she seems lovely,” Spot deadpanned.

“She’s evil and we have her until tomorrow morning. Save me,” Race mumbled, still hiding his face. Spot just pressed a quick kiss to the top of Race’s hair and hugged him tightly. They’d survived five years together, one night babysitting a thirteen-year-old would be nothing. Hopefully.

 

 

“Hey, Race, why the fuck is the photo of us from the Christmas movie night in the bedside drawer?”

“Um……”


End file.
